His Blessing in Disguise: A Western Historical Romance Novel

by Ava Winters

  Samuel Preston stepped inside and nodded acknowledgment at the sheriff. Harvey returned the nod and sidestepped Samuel, continuing out of The Saloon. Clyde nodded and put the coin in his pocket, thinking that the good sheriff should have done something about Isaac. The man was only getting drunker by the minute.

  As he rode toward the Thomas homestead, he considered the many times he had given Isaac leeway because of his loss. Wilma had been a lovely, sweet, and generous woman in life and Isaac had been the salt of the earth. Harvey was sure that losing such a woman after twenty years of marriage had been hard on Isaac. A more difficult thing than he thought he could ever survive.

  But Isaac had to get ahold of himself and stop causing trouble. Before Harvey had been appointed as the first lawman of Haven Ridge two years ago, vigilante justice had ruled the town. There were plenty of people who would love to revert to that system of meting out justice however they saw fit. If he didn’t do something about Isaac soon, he feared for the man’s safety.

  Arriving at the edge of the Thomas property, Harvey was amazed at how well Millie seemed to be keeping the place by herself. Goodness knew her father was little help. He slowed Leon to a trot and then to a walk as he scanned the property for Millie. Not seeing her outside, he stationed Leon at the tethering post near the invitingly tall grass and headed up the slope to the porch.

  Supper was on and it smelled of savory beef and onions. Harvey’s gut rumbled, reminding him that he had not taken supper yet and that he had missed lunch, too. Millie took so much after her mother. Her voice, high and pure, floated to him as he raised his hand to knock on the door. She was singing a church hymn. No time to listen to her singing no matter how pretty it sounds, he thought. He rapped sharply on the door.

  “Miss Thomas? It’s Sheriff Roach. I need to speak to you, please.” He stepped back and removed his hat in anticipation of her appearance.

  The singing ceased. “I’ll be right there,” she called from the kitchen. A pot clanked noisily and then another as she removed them from the stove, no doubt. Seconds later, she appeared in the doorway with only the hazy gray of the screen door separating them. “Yes, Sheriff? Is it my father again?”

  Looking down at the porch boards, he nodded. “I’m afraid so, Miss Thomas. I hate to bother you at suppertime, but I need you to come to The Saloon with me and calm him down before he gets into trouble again.”

  Her expression went from cherubic to weathered in an instant. Her shoulders, usually straight as was her posture, drooped. It was like looking at a much older version of Millie. A much older and more exhausted Millie bedraggled by her father’s actions.

  As Harvey and Millie rode into town, the sound of an angry mob broke through the night.

  “Wait here, Miss Thomas. I have to see what’s going on and I don’t want you in danger. I’ll be right back.” Harvey pointed toward his little jail station.

  The shouts and whoops became suddenly louder. Alarmed, Harvey jolted Leon forward into a run. The shouts from the crowd grew louder until he dismounted amidst the cacophony to assess the situation.

  Two of Deacon’s men had Isaac pinned down in the dirt.

  “Git off me, you filthy rats!” His words were badly slurred and the command came out nearly garbled beyond recognition.

  Sadly, Harvey had dealt with a drunken Isaac several times and understood his mashed-together words perfectly. The more Isaac struggled, the rougher Deacon’s men handled him.

  “Hey! Whoa!” Harvey rushed toward the three men holding up his hands in a stop gesture.

  The crowd quieted to only indistinct murmurs. Others were heading toward the scene from both directions. Another exciting night in Haven Ridge, Harvey thought.

  The man with his knee in Isaac’s back, Harvey thought his name was Wade, nodded toward the saloon’s entrance. “We got trouble, Sheriff. You’ll want to go on in there and take a good look before you go yelling at us to let him up from here.”

  Upon stepping inside, Harvey’s blood chilled at the sight of Samuel Preston lying sprawled on his back, unmoving, with a bullet wound in his chest. Carson Morgan, Deacon’s right-hand man, was standing over Samuel’s body, looking both flustered and shocked.

  “Carson, what happened here?” Harvey scrutinized the scene and didn’t like it from the beginning. Something was off and badly so, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what that something was.

  “Ole Isaac got drunker than a skunk after you left to go fetch Miss Millie. He was giving the boys what-for about their lack of respect.” He pointed to the same spot where Harvey had seen him becoming belligerent before he had left.

  Continuing, Carson slid his hat back from his brow. “Samuel stepped in and tried to talk him down a little and they got into one heck of an argument. Then they got quiet and I thought it was over. But Isaac wasn’t done drinking.” He shook his head slowly. “After a few more shots of whiskey, he picked a fight with Samuel. They were really clobbering each other, but Samuel was getting the best of Isaac.” He threw mock-punches and even kicked out with his boot as he enacted the scene from memory. “I reckon Isaac didn’t take to being beaten in a fight he started, so he grabbed Samuel’s gun from its holster and shot him dead right here. With his own gun, he got killed. That ain’t right, Sheriff. I don’t care who you are, that just ain’t right.” Shaking his head vehemently, he hitched his trousers up, thumbed his nose, and glared at Harvey.

  Harvey sidestepped the spreading pool of blood and moved toward Carson, watching him closely for signs that he was lying. There were plenty of signs, but it was hard to pin them down; they were oily and kept slipping away before they could be examined properly. The way his eyes darted up and away from Harvey as he talked, the way he shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, his over-the-top reenactment of the brawl, and last but not least, the way Clyde shied away from the scene almost as if he were hiding behind his bar, hoping not to be called out.

  “Where’s Samuel’s gun now?” He noted that the bar was empty except for Samuel’s corpse, Carson, Clyde, and Jacob Conley. If memory serves, Jacob was Samuel’s best friend, Harvey thought, eyeing the scared looking man cowering at a table near the corner.

  Carson turned and pointed to the bar. “Why, it’s right there. My boys wrestled with Isaac and took it from him. I told ’em to hold him down out there ’til you got back.”

  Harvey moved to the bar, pulling the murder weapon to him. Clyde wouldn’t make eye contact. He had found something interesting on the floor between his feet from the looks of him.

  “Clyde, is that how it happened? Is that what you saw?” Harvey popped the cylinder out of Samuel’s gun. One bullet missing. He pushed it back into place.

  “That’s about right, Sheriff. Just like Carson said. You saw how drunk Isaac already was when you left out.” Clyde resumed his inspection of that interesting thing between his feet.

  Harvey leaned up and looked over to see what was holding Clyde’s attention. The floor was bare wood and there wasn’t a single thing on it except Clyde’s boots. He gave Clyde a hard look, took Samuel’s gun, and made his way over to Jacob. He pulled out a chair and sat directly across from the man. “Jacob, you were Sam’s best friend, right?” He was almost a hundred percent sure he was correct in that assumption.

  Jacob pulled his hat off and put it on his knee, running his hand over his shaggy mop of hair, huffing out a tight breath that seemed to have been pent-up for a while. He nodded.

  “Yeah. We been friends since I can remember.” He suddenly sniffled loudly and wiped at his eyes almost angrily, keeping them downcast. “He was a good man. He didn’t deserve this.” His eyes flitted to the macabre scene in the center of the building and then up to meet Harvey’s steady gaze. Immediately, Jacob shifted, averted his gaze, and crammed his hat back on his head.

  “Was anyone else in here when it happened?”

  Jacob bounced his leg up and down rapidly as he tried to make eye contact with Sheriff Roach, but he couldn�
�t quite manage it. Shaking his head, he mumbled, “No, just us three and them two fighting.” His eyes flitted around, following his finger as he quickly pointed to each man.

  Outside, the scene was heating up again. More people had gathered and the crowd had moved in tighter to get a good look at Deacon’s men and Isaac. Of course, the one Harvey thought was named Wade had divulged to the onlookers that Isaac had shot poor Samuel Preston dead in cold blood with the man’s own gun.

  Stepping out, Harvey was greeted with angry demands that Isaac should be strung up right then and there. Samuel was a good man and didn’t have an enemy among the people. Or so they made it seem that way at that moment.

  Crowds are fickle though and when they’re out for blood, they come together under the guise of unity. Holding his hands high in a quieting gesture again, Harvey stepped to the scene where Isaac had run out of steam. From the bruises and lacerations on his face, he’d had the steam beaten out of him.

  “There won’t be a hanging without a fair trial!” Harvey yelled to be heard over the rumble of the crowd.

  Deacon’s men roused the crowd as Harvey walked over to cuff Isaac.

  Wade threw his arms up in the air. “There should be swift justice here! Samuel deserves it, don’t you all agree?”

  The crowd whooped and hollered their unanimous agreement. The sheriff elbowed past Deacon’s other men and put the cuffs on Isaac. Wade once again incited the crowd to roars and demands of a hanging.

  Harvey turned to the man, anger flaring. “Wade, isn’t it?”

  The man sneered at the sheriff. “Yeah.”

  “Wade, if you rile this crowd one more time, I’m going to run you in and put you in the cell, too. There won’t be a hanging under my watch. This man is going to stand trial for what he supposedly did and I’ll keep him safe until then.” He turned to the crowd and yelled, “Do you hear me? No hanging without a fair trial. That’s how the law works, that’s why you appointed me sheriff, and that’s exactly how I intend to handle this. Now go on back home. All of you.”

  A few stragglers from the crowd traipsed along behind Sheriff Roach as he took Isaac down the road toward the jail. There were a couple of shouts for justice, but they had mostly settled once Isaac had been removed from the scene. Looking over his shoulder, Harvey saw that Wade and the other man stood in the middle of the road, arms crossed over chests, watching him. He didn’t care for their twin expressions that said they were up to no good.

  Chapter One

  Though she appreciated Sheriff Roach’s kindness toward her and her father, Millie had come to dread his visits. They were happening more often with every passing week and each time she would ride to town and find her father drunker than on the previous occasion. Usually, he was causing some sort of fuss with others in the saloon. She would calm him down and bring him home, let him sleep it off, and the next day, he would always promise to do better.

  And he was better afterward for a day or two.

  In the beginning, he would get into trouble, make his customary promise to do better, and Millie would know he wouldn’t cause any trouble again for at least ten or twelve days. He was getting worse, though. It happened gradually. The twelve-day period turned into a ten-day period, the ten-day period turned to eight, and so on.

  He had caused her much embarrassment and grief over the last several months. She had overlooked his actions for a while, knowing he missed her mother, but even she was running out of patience, it seemed. Since her mother’s death, her father had declined in health, attitude, fortitude, and morals.

  She was at her wits’ end when the sheriff knocked on her door this time.

  At twenty-two, Millie knew she should have been married and starting a family of her own, but so far, she had not had the opportunity. Sheriff Roach was a kind man, and Millie was indebted to him for his kindness. And as far as men went, he was the only one who came knocking at her door these days. It was never to ask to see her for any romantic reason. It was always to ask her to bail her father out of some trouble he’d gotten himself into.

  Her troublesome father.

  Sheriff Roach had every right to arrest her father and toss him into jail but had only done it twice so far—and those two times were only because it was so late that the sheriff couldn’t bring himself to fetch her out in the middle of the night. Not taking time to change out of her chore dress, in fact, not even taking off her apron, Millie wiped her hands and tossed the towel onto the skinny table by the door where her mother had always kept a bouquet of fresh flowers. The vase sat empty now and she sighed for the lack of that bit of gentleness, thoughtfulness, and beauty.

  Their little house was nothing fancy, but her mother had always seen to it that the place was warm, clean, inviting, and cozy for her family. Her handmade quilts and throw blankets adorned the plain furniture. And the large rug she had traded two of her quilts for still brightened the family room—the much disused family room. Since her death, the room had only served as a place for Millie to do a little needlework or to nurse her father in front of the fire on cold evenings when she had brought him back from town and his drinking.

  As she mounted her own horse, Brandywine, Millie’s heart dropped. It was becoming more difficult every day to find reasons to smile, especially when her father was drinking so much that he barely knew his own name. She tried to do her duty and help him. She nursed him when he fell ill or injured himself while drunk, she kept the homestead up mostly by herself, had breakfast set before he rose in the mornings, and supper awaited him every night. As his daughter, it was her duty to do these things. Mostly, she did them out of love. She hoped that one day soon, he would see the error of his ways and straighten up.

  There was a strip of daylight left in the sky as they rode toward town proper and Millie watched as the mountain peak ate the sun a little at a time sending out rays of deep crimson and purple to paint the sky. It was beautiful. Beautiful sunsets were common in Haven Ridge and she loved them all. Each one was unique, painting intrinsic patterns through the clouds and over the land.

  And I’ve seen too many of them from the back of a horse as I ride toward town to collect Papa before he gets into serious trouble, she thought miserably.

  At the midpoint between the Thomas property and Haven Ridge, the land stretched out in all directions seemingly endless. The town could not be seen ahead and homesteads were not visible. The tall grass and wildflowers on either side of the path swayed in the gentle constant breeze, the peaceful undulations of untouched, unblemished beauty entreating passersby to stop and enjoy it for a while.

  But Millie didn’t have time. She never had time just to stop and take in the splendor of the midpoint in the trek from home to town. The place never failed to lighten her burdens, even if only fleetingly, as she passed through. The fields of flowers stretched out, usually meeting the bottoms of the tall, craggy mountains, but with the sun bedding down behind the mountain, the light was lost and the flowered fields ended in shadows long before reaching the steep mountains.

  She rode in silence the rest of the way to the town limits.

  Harvey slowed his horse and spoke to Millie. “Miss Thomas, please talk to him tomorrow, get him to see that he needs to stop all this. There are people who want to go back to the way things were done before I was sheriff. And Deacon is chief among them. He’s my boss and I shouldn’t be talking ill of him, but he’s a bad egg.”

  Millie nodded, the stone of sorrow weighing her heart down further. “I will, Sheriff. I always talk to him.” She sighed and pressed the fingers of her right hand to the center of her forehead, trying to stave off the tears that she felt were close.

  Setting her mind in a different direction to avoid a show of emotion, she thought about how things had been before the sheriff took his post. Of course, Deacon Owens would be the main instigator in a movement that took the people of Haven Ridge back to vigilante justice. As the founder and mayor of Haven Ridge, he had argued against Harvey Roach becoming sheriff,
stating that his Vigilance Committee was the only true way to keep justice. Millie was certain the snake didn’t want a true lawman running around town. That would mean Deacon himself might fall under the sheriff’s scrutiny eventually. She had heard enough of her father’s conversations with men from other homesteads to know that Deacon didn’t do things legally all the time. He was greedy for money and power and some of the homesteaders were afraid of him and his men.

  Deacon didn’t want to be just the mayor of Haven Ridge, he wanted to own the town and the people. He wanted to make as much money as he could from them and their hard work. Millie had never cared for Deacon Owens.

  There was a ruckus going on in the middle of the wide, dusty street. Millie felt faint as she looked toward the saloon.

  Not Papa. He didn’t cause this big of a scene. He couldn’t have. This is humiliating!